


Mirror Image

by KitschyKit



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bondage, Choking, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fever, Humiliation kink, M/M, Magic, Masochism, Memory Alteration, Mind Manipulation, Shibari, Suspension, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitschyKit/pseuds/KitschyKit
Summary: Julian makes a deal with the Hanged Man, who not only sees him for who he really is, but then teaches him a unconventional lesson about what it really means to be vulnerable.





	Mirror Image

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place the night of the Count’s murder, and does contain spoilers for Julian’s route. 
> 
> Additionally, the side effects of writing this fic include googling “what do birds smell like?” and not liking the answer enough to include it. (ie. musk, dust, seeds, honey and/or sunshine apparently).

Ilya never considered himself to be a mad doctor, although he admitted that it would be a great character to don when he needed to, like the very same plague mask they were forced to wear.

Then he met a _real_ mad doctor, and everything spiraled out of control.

He was feverish, that much he knew-- but time was of the essence here, in the blood-tinted dungeon that he was locked in. He knew, _he knew_ that this wouldn’t work, shouldn’t work, because magic wasn’t _real._

Magic wasn’t real like the cold weight of a scalpel was real, or like tang of bitter herbs, or the red of a beetle and the _screams oh skies above the screams never stopped._

Magic wasn’t real but he was running out of time and he had tried everything else, tearing rabidly through journals and books and charts, eyes fuzzy, head pounding because he was _sick he was sick_ and he just needed a little faith _that’s all he needed--_

“No, no, _no, this isn’t working why isn’t it working.”_ He knocked the inkwell over, hands scrabbling at his numb face. “ _What am I missing?”_

Ash and blood and ink covered his hands, and his vision was getting blurry, but he kept staring at what he’d written, trying to focus, trying to--

“I won’t let it end here,” he thought, muttered, _laughed,_ laughter bubbling out of his throat, raw and pained, chest tight.

_Is this how they felt?_

That’s what had undone him hadn’t it? How odd for a man of science to always find himself tied up in heart and bed with magicians-- loving them, but always doubting, always destroying, never trusting and he had to trust that his would work _he had to believe._

_He wanted to believe._

He scrambled for the chalk, grasping it in shaky fingers, sweat coating his forehead as he copied the symbol out of Asra’s book.

The symbol he sketched into stone smudged worse, sideways, like wiping dirt off of a window, and Julian was staring into a forest, a swamp-- but none like he’d ever seen before. He barely had time to react before he was pulled forward through the wall and dumped onto the cold damp sand, harsh breathing loud in the humid night.

“So you wanted to travel to another realm to find a cure did you?” The low drawl cut through his feverish mind like ice, and Julian slowly lifted his head.  

A raven-headed man stood before him, black eyes shimmering in the red glow of the lantern. “Now that you’re here, tell me little fledgling: what would you sacrifice?”

Julian sat back on his heels, trying to focus, and the more he breathed, the clearer his mind became. “I… where am I?”

The man threw back his head and laughed, feathers rustling as he did so. He crossed his arms, expression almost amused. “I supposed I should have expected that you would not have an answer right away, most humans can’t even grasp the concept of true sacrifice.”

“I did--” Julian stammered, for once at a loss for words. “I do want to make a deal. I have to.”

“Pray tell, why do you _have to?”_

Julian stood on shaky legs, resisting the urge to pace on the small island. “The city is falling apart, I’m falling apart— the plague is going to destroy everything and everyone if someone doesn’t stop it.”

The raven headed man tilted his head in a bird-like way that unnerved Julian more than he cared to admit. “So then, why you?”

Julian spread his arms and shrugged, voice cracking a little: “I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

The Arcana— the title came suddenly from his memory, in Asra’s voice— regarded him closely. “Do you know why you were drawn to my realm, while you toed the line between life and death?”

Julian paled and shook his head, not at all eager to know the answer.

“It’s because you and I are exceptionally similar,” the raven said. “So let’s match then.”

With a snap of the raven’s fingers, Julian was bound with soft red ropes of the finest silk, the diamond pattern peeking out from under his white shirt.

He stared down at them, blush hot across his face, but only for a moment before his head was being forced up, manipulated like a puppet on a string. He felt like his body no longer had any weight to it, and he was lifted into a standing position, back up straight, only inches away from the Arcana.

They were now eye level, and the raven cocked his head and stared at Julian as if he was a shiny new toy, rather than another person. “Forgive me,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I haven’t made a Deal in quite a while, and I would like your full attention.”

“O-okay.” Julian could barely breathe now. He was trying to find some words of protest but he mostly seemed to be at the mercy of his own hormones— he knew himself well, knew what he did and didn’t like and _this_ well; this should’ve been utterly terrifying but instead, it made his mouth dry and his mind clear and his pulse hum.

He was helplessly trussed up, forced to look the raven in the eye, and squirm like a worm on a hook and that _did things to him,_ especially since the raven kept _staring_ at him, _studying_ him.

“You love punishing yourself don't you?”

Julian blinked, blushing. “I beg your pardon?”

“You always think that you are helping those around you by leaving, because they’re better off without you. That is not sacrifice, little fledgling; that is avoidance.”

“What is going on?” He asked, demanding, and the restriction of the ropes, once gratifying, was now firmly back in the _terrifying_ category.

“For every act of self-sacrifice, there is a fool delaying the inevitable.” The raven concluded. “I already knew this, but you’re in my realm now little fledgling— I know who and what you are, and what you want.”

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Julian’s hands were forced behind his back, more red rope used to bind him. “You are a frightened chick: so afraid of losing others that you’ll push them away yourself, just to have that sense of control in an uncaring world.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julian tried to be braver than he felt, throwing up denial and harsh words. “I am just here to make a deal.”

The raven headed man began to walk slow, methodical circles around Julian’s suspended body, coming in and out of view, but voice inescapable. “I know about the screams that haunt you, the memories that keep you up at night, your actions and mistakes that you try so hard to forget…”

Julian winced, but shook his head, trying to make sense of the Arcana. “I just want the cure, nothing else.”

“You misunderstand.” The Arcana replied, stopping in front of him to lock eyes. “Your memories would be payment for the cure.”

Julian furrowed his brow, taken aback. “Why?”

“You underestimate what a powerful tool memory can be,” the raven said. “But regardless, does it really matter why?”

“I- I guess not.” He said, still hesitant. “But would you just take away the memories of the plague?”

“Yes, just those. I know that still, somehow, you’ll find away to blame yourself, because that is just the type of person we are.” He clicked his tongue. “But still! What a blessing to have a new start to life. You’ll forget all this; these past few months working to stop the plague. Your memories will fade, and you can start over in a plague free-city.”

Julian’s mouth fell open as he worked through the timeline, a small protest on his lips. “But, that means—”

“Yes,” the Arcana answered. “Your dearest apprentice: the late magician that came into your life during that same time. Would you sacrifice the memories of the person you loved above all else?” The man’s voice pitched lower, softer, eyes almost sympathetic, and Julian realized the true nature of the Deal.

_What would he sacrifice?_

“After all, it would be rather foolish to forfeit the cure for the memories of the dead, would it not?”

Julian blinked back tears, jaw locked in the effort not to cry. “It would.”

“What is your decision?”

A flash of hot sorrow passed through him, and turned into a harsh selfishness, the kind that made his own stomach turn at his cowardice. “You can have them-- I don’t. I don’t want them. They hurt too much anyway.”

“Ah, memory and magic. The two of the most fickle things besides the human heart, and here you are forced to confront all three.” The raven man tilted his head, appraising.

“I change my mind,” he said, and with another flick of his hand, Julian was rotated in the air, head now inches above the sand.

“Hey-”

With a sickening jolt, he was dragged upward, so that they were face to face again, reflecting each other like a playing card. The raven-man was somehow even more patronizing upside-down.

“You’re actually nothing like me at all, are you?” he said. “Reckless, selfish, dramatic. A sacrifice always has to benefit you in some way too doesn’t it?”

“I've sacrificed plenty,” Julian snapped, lashing out. "Don't act like you know what I've lost." 

The Arcana ignored him, continuing on as if he’d never spoken. "I think I will give you a gift,” he said. “I believe you can get better, but the knowledge of the cure isn’t quite worth the weight of a Deal. No, what it worth the memory of the past is…. a _purpose_ for the future.”

It was foreboding, cryptic, and Julian sucked in a breath as the raven closed the small gap between them. With the height he was at, upside down and exposed, he realized that his neck was completely vulnerable to the Arcana, the sharp point of his beak level with the base of Julian’s throat.

“You are going to learn what it means to take on another’s burden in every sense of the word, and you will find purpose in healing others more than you already do.”

Julian shifted at the words, at the unnerving breach of personal space, but didn’t have any room to fight it, face brushing up against the soft downy feathers at the base of the raven’s neck.

The Arcana raised one arm and slid the back of his hand under the diamond rope pattern on Julian’s chest and grasped one of the knots, holding him in place. “Keep still,” he said, and Julian only hesitated a moment before he complied, eyes slipping closed, pressing his forehead more firmly into the ravens’ chest.

The Arcana’s other hand cupped the back of his neck, his thumb pressing down in the hollow of his throat, and Julian would bet that the other could feel how fast his heart was beating, could feel the shallow breaths that ruffled the feathers on his chest.

The tip of the raven’s claw dug gently into flesh of Julian's neck and Julian realized with dawning certainty that if he was hard, cock flush against the buttons of his pants.

Julian tensed, mortified, as the Arcana let out a raspy laugh. “A coward _and_ a pervert, I might have to rethink my gift after all.”

It was getting more difficult to breathe after being upside down for so long, his pulse throbbing beneath the raven’s palm, and Julian tried to find a way to deny the labels but was hit with a wave of horror that he _couldn’t_.

“Do you want to be a better person?” The raven-man asked, and Julian swallowed, hyper aware of the clawed hand on his throat.

“Of course I do.” He replied, carefully keeping his mouth shut to avoid more humiliation.

“Then you need to offer yourself to the judgement of others. Be vulnerable, be... _broken.”_

“B-broken?”

“I’ll be sure to do it in a way you’ll understand.” The Arcana said, and he tugged on the ropes once more, and Julian was hit with a sudden jolt of realization that went straight to his dick.

_He wasn’t actually suggesting?_

“This isn’t punishment little fledgling.” The raven said. “Despite what you think, you do not deserve the wrath you invite unto yourself.”

_He was._

The clawed hand on his chest lifted, one finger hooked on the rope, and with a _snap_ the raven released it back to his skin and all at once the ropes around Julian’s body tightened to a near painful degree.

“This is enlightenment.” The words were spoken with a low finality to them, an unspoken transition shifting the tension, and Julian could feel the sudden intensity like a physical ache.

The man hadn’t moved, and was still cradling Julian’s head to his collarbone, whispering in his ear. His voice had a strange alluring pull to it, like hot whiskey poured over ice, tempting and warm.

Julian let himself fall.

“Tell me little fledgling,” the raven asked. “Do you feel ashamed? Ashamed of how desperate you are? Ashamed of all the strange twisted fantasies you cling to at night?”

Julian buried his face further into the feathers, mouth suddenly dry. “Y-Yes.”

The raven made a sound, something that could’ve been praise in another life, but mostly sounded dismissive, like he didn’t actually care about the answer, and it made Julian shiver.

“What about now?”

From where the Arcana had a firm grasp on the ropes, _heat_ spread down the diamond patterned silk, like warm syrup that made him _melt_ and lean into the ache. The heat comforted the muscles of his shoulders like a massage, warmth traveling to the parts of the rope that were wrapped around his upper thighs and he groaned, the delicate skin sensitive.

“I’m— I feel—“ Julian gasped, barely stuttering out the words before something was touching him. It wasn’t the Arcana himself, but something else. _Magic,_ his mind helpfully supplied, because any other answer might have been terrifying.

Still, it soft and light, without any real pressure to it, like a feather being dragged along the outline of his dick, teasing through the fabric of his pants, and Julian let out a broken moan, sentence forgotten.

The feather was not enough and he twisted his hips, and panting into the Arcana's chest, mindlessly trying to chase the feeling, and whined when the touch disappeared.

“Greedy,” the raven admonished, and Julian whined louder, pouting.

“I know what you want, but still you have to fight me every step of the way don’t you?” The section of the rope around his neck turned ice cold in an instant, and Julian let out strangled hiss.

“M’ sorry,” he said automatically, dizzy with the need to be touched and the feather-light sensation came back as one long drawn out stroke up his cock, making him twitch, pre-cum soaking into the fabric of his pants. The rope thawed to a much more bearable chill, refreshing on the back of his neck.

“Will you surrender to your desires?” The raven asked, and Julian made a questioning noise, followed by a breathy stuttered groan as the feather-touch flicked back and forth under the head of his cock.

“It means you give me total control.” The raven said, and it was in a tone that was almost sweet as the feather slowed down again, tracing idle lines around his dick. “Can you do that? I know how badly you want to.”

 _“Please._ ” He was _desperate_ for it, the reality finally hitting him that the raven _really did know_ everything. Julian couldn’t bluff anymore, but he could _beg,_ and ‘please’ turned into small pleading noises.

“Shh.” The hand on his neck briefly carded through his hair, a comforting gesture, before finding its place back on his neck. “Stay still and let me play with you then.”

Julian was already whispering fevered  _yes’s_ into the raven’s neck, body tense as the temperature of the ropes shifted and waned around his body in unpredictable ways, drawing fucked out little noises out of him.

“That’s it my little fledgling,” he said, and there _was_ praise there that time, even if was buried under patronizing malice. “Don’t fight it.”

He did his best to relax and stay still, but it was harder the faster the feather went. He lost track of time altogether, floating and gasping and whining, _unraveling_ the longer he was played with, the too-light not-enough touches driving him higher and closer to the edge, and the sweat that soaked his pants and shirt froze every time a section of rope did, thawing and burning and freezing in a _frustrating_ cycle that was designed to make sure he never got too comfortable.

“If only people could see you now, tied up and on a knife’s edge from coming all over yourself.”

The touch disappeared altogether as the ropes went to a neutral luke-warm and Julian cried out _,_  tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

“A pretty plaything,” The Arcana drawled as Julian shuddered, throat tight with the effort not to cry. “Oh so sensitive.”

A clawed fingertip abandoned its grip on the ropes to slide under his shirt and flick one of his nipples. Julian made a low sound in his throat, breaths hiccupy and wheezing.

The claw tapped his nipple lightly. “If I twist it hard enough, do you think you’d cry?” There was a knowing lilt to his voice, a dangerous one, even as the other arm gently cradled his head.

“Do you want me to make you cry, little one?”

Julian was dizzy now, head and body heavy from where the ropes dug into his skin, and could only find it in himself to whine.

“Do you?” Sharp claws dug into the meat of his shoulder, making him yelp, bringing him back into the moment.

“I-” Julian screamed, cut off as the Arcana made good on his threat, twisting his nipple in a rough movement, pain blossoming for a few agonizing seconds before he let go, hand resting passively on the ropes again.

Julian was trembling, face hot as tears leaked out onto the raven’s chest. The feather-light touch started again, and he moaned into it, pulse spiking, the edge rushing up to meet him and he tensed, toes curling, feeling every pull of the ropes on his sore muscles.

He knew, he _knew_ it was going to leave again, but he tried to get off on the light touch of the feather alone, hoping desperately that he could come from it, barely breathing, only focused on _more please more._

It disappeared.

Julian _sobbed_ , body fever-hot, dick twitching and messy and achingly hard, and he was _shaking_ with need, begging desperately into the neck of the Arcana.

The raven chuckled, low and amused. “ _Let go_ _little one_.” Julian gasped into his chest at the order, hips twitching and the Arcana’s hand wrapped around the ropes again, firm and unrelenting.

“Let me see you for who you _really_ are.” The clawed fingers on his throat, once gentle and secure, dug sharply into his skin, drawing blood and cutting off his air, and Julian felt a rush of sensations hit him all at once.

The ropes turned cold, while the base of his throat burned white-hot, mixing in with the sharp pinch of the claws. His eyes stung as he screamed, tears leaking into the feathers of the Arcana and Julian was coming, _finally_ coming, and he was _flying_ and also _crashing_ at the same time, the hot flush of humiliation making him sob harder as he came untouched, dick throbbing in his too-tight pants.

He was a mess, lightheaded and trembling, and he continued crying even as the hand around his throat relaxed. His muscles were uncomfortably tense, the sweaty, sticky way his pants clung to his skin only serving as a reminder and making him feel worse. He felt _so bad so dirty so wrong_ and he kept his eyes squeezed shut, face buried in the tear-stained feathers because he was _too exposed, it was too much._

The raven man pulled away, and the abrupt loss of his shield started another wave of tears, wishing he could curl in on himself.

The ropes thawed out to a comfortable warm as he was lowered to the ground,  but he was still helplessly tied up, body twitching with aftershocks. The raven  followed him down, kneeling in the sand to rest Julian’s head on his lap. Julian finally blinked open his eyes, the dim red light forgiving, and he looked up at the face of the raven man. The Arcana’s bright eyes were appraising the aching patch on Julian’s throat.

“You are quite stunning when all your walls have been broken down,” he murmured, and _gods it was so fucked up_ but the praise made Julian shiver, the warm lap under his head welcome contact.

“It is disappointing that you won’t remember this lesson,” the Arcana continued on, “But you’ll have my mark until we meet again.”

At these words, he used two fingers to press down on the tender skin at the base of his throat, making Julian wince and whine. “W-what?”

“We have a Deal.” The Arcana whispered to him, and he winked. “One day you will be vulnerable, and you will be loved, and you won’t be ashamed to be your most authentic self, but today is not that day my little fledgling.”

Julian tried to focus on the words, despite a headache starting to bloom behind his eyes.

“You have to do something important first...”

As the raven was speaking, the swamp started to blur around Julian again, colors swimming in a nauseating way; his mind felt fragmented, the headache blossoming into a migraine, and Julian’s face met the cold unforgiving floor of his office, as one manic thought bubbled up from his throat.

“Kill Lucio and stop the plague,” he said to himself, in a voice that was barely his own. “Kill Lucio and stop the plague.”

He struggled to his feet, searching for ink and paper, trying desperately to hold onto a mantra that seemingly popped into his head. The migraine hit him harder, spots dancing in his eyes. “Kill Lucio and stop…”

The door to his office burst open, the lock Valdemar had used shattered on the ground.

A bear of a man stood in the doorway, the hulking figure hunched and brooding, like he was dragging a dark cloud around with him everywhere he went. But he made no move towards Julian, only backing out of the doorway to let him pass.

“Let’s go,” the man said, not waiting for an answer before turning and walking away.

Julian, as he had learned to do from many misadventures, never turned down an escape route, and quickly followed, mind frustratingly foggy.

 _Kill Lucio_ , he repeated to himself, and although he couldn’t quite remember why he needed to kill the Count, he knew that it would be the most important thing he’d ever done.

The hallways morphed and blurred around him, _the fever,_ Julian thought, and he blacked out then, muscles heavy as they carried him through the palace.

The next thing he remembered, he was in front of the Count’s room, the fire lapping out into the hallway, hungry and all-consuming.

He didn’t know it, but the mark on his throat glowed in that moment, and the plague that was destroying his body and mind was eroded away, the only remnant being the sclera of his right eye, reflecting the unearthly ruby flames that twisted and roared in the night.

Julian ran.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: this started because I had a fever myself, and the phrase "The Hanged Man, a known freak" was hilarious to me. 
> 
> A big thank you to Mati and Ricki for your continued support, ya nasties. We also run a Arcana discord server and we would love new people to fresh things up: https://discord.gg/BNu7yR6
> 
> Come yell about the Arcana with me on twitter @kearatheshadow.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [lovely bloodflow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760275) by [redlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight)




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